


The Noose

by mickie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, jimlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 07:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/pseuds/mickie
Summary: Sherlock investigates the death of a Eurovision 2019 contestant.





	The Noose

**Author's Note:**

> **TW: description/discussion of suicide**
> 
> This happens post s2 but the rooftop didn’t happen. They went out for drinks instead and, much to Mycroft’s dismay, have been casually dating ever since.
> 
> This story is fiction and all references to Duncan Laurence or any locales and establishments are purely my invention. 
> 
> This is my June entry for the Sherlock Challenge on Tumblr. The prompt is **Eurovision 2019**.

**The Noose**

“Politely late,” Sherlock noted as he heard high heels climbing the steps to 221B. It was three minutes after ten and that had to be his ten o’clock appointment. Ms. Adaline Clarke wanted to speak to him about her brother’s apparent suicide, which she believed to be murder. Sherlock was bored. He had only one other case and Mycroft had been hounding him to do some MI5 work. Perhaps this one would be interesting.

“Come in,” he said when he heard the knock on the door. A stylishly dressed woman entered. Matching Fendi business suit. Perfectly coiffed hair and make-up. No. 52 Rouge Pur Couture by Yves Saint Laurent. Balenciaga leather pumps. Wealthy and not afraid to show it. “Please sit down, Ms. Clarke.” He indicated the client’s chair. 

“Please call me, Adaline, Mr. Holmes,” she said with a shaky voice and retrieved several tissues from her Louis Vuitton handbag. Clearly upset at the loss of a family member but not above using that to further her own goals.

“Tell me about your brother, Ms. Clarke.”

Adaline dabbed under her eyes carefully so as to soak up the tears and running mascara. “It started when he got involved with that man from the Netherlands, who won Eurovision 2019, Duncan Laurence.”

“I believe he’s dating someone,” Sherlock noted.

Adaline smiled wanly. “Yes, well, Sinclaire was, how shall we put it politely…?”

“He was the bit on the side,” Sherlock stated bluntly which caused Adaline to start sobbing and coughing. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “What leads you to believe that he was murdered?” 

While Adaline composed herself, Sherlock organized the steps he would take to investigate the Isaacson case. Gulf International Bank suspected their vice president, Roger Isaacson, of embezzlement, fraud, and larceny and they needed Sherlock to find concrete evidence before terminating him and having him arrested.

Adaline’s voice intruded upon his thoughts. “Mr. Holmes?! Hello?”

Sherlock quickly focused on her. “Yes, are you ready to go on now?” She seemed a bit disconcerted. Sherlock quickly lied,” I was reviewing the information I have on Duncan Laurence.” That would reassure her.

She nodded. “Their relationship started about a year ago and fairly quickly became abusive from what I could tell. Sinclaire mentioned broken promises, verbal beratings, and demeaning conversations. If I were to guess, there had to be physical abuse as well, you know, just from the way he sounded. The last few times I saw him, he had bruises and rather sketchy explanations for how he got them.”

“The cause of death was listed as suicide,” Sherlock noted and picked up a copy of the police report he’d stolen from Lestrade’s computer. She nodded. “You believe that he was murdered.”

“My brother was happy,” Adaline explained. “His music was going somewhere. People were noticing him. Twisted Recordings and NoMad Records were looking at signing him. Everything was looking up. He thought Duncan’s relationship with his boyfriend was ending and they could work on _their_ relationship. There was absolutely no reason for him to kill himself.”

“The police did a thorough investigation.”

“They didn’t really talk to me and ignored all the important details I was trying to provide,” Adaline said bitterly and sniffled before finding another tissue and dabbing her eyes again. “They took everything at face value. He had a date with Duncan that evening. They didn’t consider that important. They didn’t even interview him or look into the possibility of a connection to Sinclaire’s death.”

“You believe that Duncan Laurence murdered your brother and made it look like a suicide,” Sherlock surmised.

“Yes,” Adaline said firmly. “There is no other explanation. That man was at my brother’s apartment. I talked to Sinclaire as he was getting ready for their date. They must have had a fight and Duncan either murdered him to silence him or there was some sort of accident. My brother would certainly not kill himself.”

Sherlock looked at her pensively for a few moments. The case was certainly unusual and intriguing. It looked like a straightforward suicide but with the added information, it wasn’t necessarily. There was a certain element of cleverness in it. “I’ll take the case,” he said crisply. “I have your contact information. I’ll get in touch as soon as I have information.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” Adaline said and retrieved a check from her handbag. “My family wants justice for my brother.” She handed him the check. “And the truth, no matter what it is.” Sherlock nodded and then waited for her to leave before picking up his phone and texting Jim.

Sinclaire Clarke. You. -SH

No question mark, darling? -JM

Why do you assume the worst of me? -JM

… -SH

I’m wounded. -JM

Dinner at Angler? -SH

Full explanation. Loser buys! -JM

And bottoms. -SH

Deal. -JM

See you tonight. Bring your wallet. -SH

And something that will make you scream. -JM

Sherlock smirked. He had no intention of _losing_ this challenge. Jim would be the one screaming underneath him well into the night.

*~*~*

Sherlock tried to be polite. He called the yard and asked Grisham if he could look at the crime scene pictures from the Clarke case. Lestrade blew him off with the excuse that the case was closed and no one was allowed to look at the files. Sherlock rolled his eyes and promptly hacked into NSY’s database as soon as he hung up. Dating a consulting criminal had its benefits.

The pictures showed a flat that looked like a hurricane had blown through it. There were smashed plates, broken furniture, books, mail, papers, shattered glass all over the floor. Nothing on the table. No blood anywhere. Interesting.

The pictures from the bedroom, where the deceased was found, were similar. Sherlock observed where the noose had been fastened to the headboard, how the body lay when it had been found by the police, and the position of all the items in the room. He noted the phone on the nightstand. It was resting on its side against a lamp. Intriguing.

Sherlock reread the police report and compared it with the police photos. There was no sign of forced entry through the door or windows. The list of furniture was standard. The music studio in the second bedroom was state-of-the-art. There was a fair amount of various types of alcohols, some high end, and a moderate amount MDMA. Sherlock nodded silently. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

The contents of the kitchen were less ordinary. Nothing had been disturbed. Both the garbage and recycle bins had been emptied. The refrigerator contained only two cans of Robinson’s “Iron Maiden” Trooper. The counters were clean. Too clean. 

Sherlock then looked for the man’s phone records. NSY hadn’t received them yet. Sherlock called Mycroft.

“Hello, Sherlock, I have a case for you.”

Sherlock pursed his lips with annoyance. “I’m busy.”

“You could dump your boyfriend and that would free up a considerable amount of time,” Mycroft suggested. “Might even be good for your soul.”

“I don’t have one,” Sherlock retorted. “But I do need you to get me some phone records.”

“I have a case for you.”

“Is it interesting?” Sherlock asked even though he knew it would be. Mycroft knew better than to give him anything boring. He asked Jim to assist him with the boring ones and make them more interesting.

“It might even involve your lover,” Mycroft said and Sherlock grimaced at how smarmy his brother sounded when he said that.

Sherlock sighed. “Fine, send the case over,” he grumbled. “I’ll send you the information for the phone records. I needed them five minutes ago.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

They both hung up simultaneously and, within the hour, Sherlock had Sinclaire Clarke’s phone records. He hadn’t left his flat all day. Since the competition in Tel Aviv, there were a few random calls to Duncan Laurence but nothing substantial. The last one was just after one o’clock in the afternoon on the day Sinclaire died and the location was London. Fascinating. He then called the two recording studios Adaline had mentioned.

After making himself some tea and eating one of the lemon squares Mrs. Hudson had left for him and John, Sherlock texted Mycroft.

Case solved. I get to be on top! Thanks for your help. -SH

I’ll start your case tomorrow if Jim lets me go. -SH

*~*~*

They had finished their appetizer of Dorsett crab and Sherlock was slowly sipping a glass of Loire Valley red wine. Jim was on his second glass when he tipped his head adorably to one side and said, “I’m waiting to be impressed.”

Sherlock smiled smugly. “He did kill himself.”

“Of course.”

“He paid _you_ to make it look like Duncan Laurence.” 

Jim smiled appreciatively. “Tell Daddy how it all happened and you win the prize.”

“He had a crush on Duncan Laurence and finally managed to make his acquaintance at Eurovision. Before that he was telling his family and friends lies, his fantasies, about his relationship with the man. There are no communications before Tel Aviv.”

“Very good.”

“Duncan Laurence is in an established relationship and their communications were likely professional,” Sherlock continued. Jim nodded. “The rest of Sinclaire Clarke’s life was falling apart. He was rejected by two record studios that had initially showed interest in his work. Duncan Laurence was coming to London, not to see him, but to sign a record deal with NoMad records. Sinclaire probably felt he deserved a contract and wanted to impress the man he’d been obsessing over.”

“So far so good, darling.”

“He told everyone he and Duncan were getting together that evening and he may have even tried to lure the man to his apartment but Duncan didn’t take whatever bait was dangled in front of him.” 

“Sex,” Jim said flatly. “And a plea to get help with music.”

“Pathetic.”

“Yes, but believable. You don’t want to know what ideas I had to talk him out of.”

Sherlock took another sip of his wine. “He made it look like they’d gone out for dinner and then had a fight when they returned to Sinclaire’s flat.”

Jim chuckled. “What did he mess up?”

“He was good enough to fool the Yard.”

“Except thanks to their _laziness_ , they actually came up with the right conclusion.” Jim sounded annoyed.

“He threw things about but there was no blood anywhere and the floors and countertops were all clean. There was no evidence of a real physical attack. It was too staged.”

“The man was a clean freak, worse than me,” Jim stated.

“Is that possible?” Sherlock teased. Jim rolled his eyes. “The hanging was simply a good use of physics; exerting enough force on his neck without having to use an elaborate set-up that would indicate a true suicide.”

“Good angles get any job done every time.”

“He also left his phone against the lamp on his nightstand,” Sherlock added. “If it were a homicide, there would be no reason for the phone to be like that. He likely had an image of Duncan Laurence or was watching the Eurovision performance as he went.”

“Good work.”

“Did I miss anything?”

Jim rolled his head from one side and back to the other. “Nothing important.” Sherlock arched an eyebrow. Jim finished his glass of wine. “I assume the toxicology reports aren’t back.”

“Not yet.”

“He took a lot of depressants and sedatives to make sure he’d succeed one way or the other.”

“Makes sense. I’ll call his sister in the morning,” Sherlock said and then stared knowingly into Jim’s eyes. “After I enjoy my prize.”


End file.
